Wednesday, December 18, 2013

Some days are easier than others

Some days are easier than others. Some are much harder. After my fiancé left me, I struggled with the
motivation to get up and try again. To look for someone that cared about me.
This is not the first rape I have had. Sadly, it is the third rape I have
endured. The first rape was so incredibly devastating. I lost everything at 15.
All of my family disowned me, some even violently attacking me. I love family.
Family is incredibly important to me. I went to school because that and my
friends was all I had left. After over two years of struggling in school- not
with learning, with doing homework, having a safe place to sleep, getting to
and from school, avoiding the harassment of my assistant principal (who made it
his moral obligation to punish me as often as possible because of the story he
had been fed by my father, who had believed my rapist when he was trying to
cover his tracks), avoiding the condemnation of parents and staff, and avoiding
the harassment of the cops. My life is an endless stream of people I have
affected in a positive way. Strength, courage, honesty, and compassion are the
words people use to describe me. My friends have seen me in my worst times, and
they have always known me to be strong, kind and to act with integrity. My life
has been a cruel struggle, the worst of which has been not because I made wrong
decisions, but because I was raped by a pedophile my family let live with us-
in the very next room from me. After the rape, I was wandering in a cruel, heartless
world alone and scared. Being smart and beautiful and extroverted can be a
blessing, but when you are scared every day to be raped again for how beautiful
you are, you develop coping mechanisms that are unique to rape victims. I did
not take care of myself. I was afraid to look beautiful, but I wanted to. The
worst thing that happens after such a traumatic event is that in essence, you
become like an animal. Knowing that at any moment I could be raped or killed is
traumatic enough, but to have to live on the streets and be forced to live with
older friends (mostly male), takes that fear to a completely different level. That
is how I have lived since my first rape. Until my fiancé. He made me feel
comfortable. He took away this fear. He was the first person to love and
protect me. Even when he was overseas, I tried to tell him how much I
appreciated it. He could never understand how deeply what he did- the simple
things he did- how they affected me. For the first time I was safe enough to
confront the trauma of my first rape. You cannot tell someone you love about
the panic attacks and the nightmares when they are overseas. The deep longing
for their physical comfort that only they can give.That is too much pressure and despair to give
to one person who cannot do anything to change it. It is torture for that
person, so instead I waited for him. He was the only person I have ever trusted
or depended on whole heartedly. As a man, I had the ultimate respect for him.
Anything he wanted from me, I would give him, and more. And then history
repeated itself. I was drugged and raped. And he left me. I always fantasized
that had he been there from the first rape, he would have been the one person
to stay. The only person I ever allowed myself to think would be there for me
no matter what- he left me when I needed him most. So some days I keep myself
busy. Some days, it hits me. Hard. But I want to believe, I chose to believe
that there is someone out there who is strong enough to be here when I need
them most.